Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Potterverse belong to JKR and her various publishers.
The Toast
The white tablecloths fluttered against everyone's legs in the late summer evening as the breeze floated through the garden. Mr. Weasley rested his hand against his program, not wanting it to be carried away by the wind. He had been careful all evening to not wrinkle or spill any wine on it, wanting to keep it safe. When the reception was over, he planned to put it with the other programs he had saved from his other children's weddings.
He stared across the table at the man he had grown to think of as a son and smiled. Harry was talking animatedly, gesturing wildly with his right hand as he described something to Mrs. Weasley, who looked torn between amusement and alarm. Harry's other hand was still bound by the silk cord to Draco's right hand, and their fingers were laced loosely together above the table. Draco watched Harry with an amused and content smile on his lips, and Mr. Weasley saw him rub his finger along Harry's wedding band.
Mr. Weasley's smile broadened. He had been exactly like Draco on his wedding day—blissfully preoccupied with his Mollywobbles. He drew lazy designs on his sweating water glass as he thought about Harry and Draco. He had had doubts about them, and he had had a serious talk with Harry when Harry had told him that he had asked Draco to marry him. He cited their years of embittered rivalry, their personality differences, Draco's history as a Death Eater…
"You sound exactly like he did," Harry had said, his lips quirked into a wry smile. "He kept trying to convince me what a lousy husband he'd make," Harry said, laughing.
Mr. Weasley had invited Draco out for lunch the next day. It had been awkward at first, and Draco only fiddled with his food as they strived to make polite conversation. Neither wanted to be the first to broach the subject of Harry's engagement to Draco. Stalling, they had ordered more bread, tea, dessert, and finally coffee, all of which they barely touched. It was when Draco had taken a sip of his lukewarm coffee and muttered about microwaving it that things changed.
"I'm sorry, did you say microwave?" Mr. Weasley asked, excited.
That had been the start to a two hour-long conversation about Muggle kitchen appliances. Finally, after forty-five minutes of pointless dithering about the weather, Quidditch, the Ministry and the food, they had found a topic they both felt passionately about: Muggle inventions. Draco drew pictures of his food processor on a napkin for Mr. Weasley, labeling the parts, and Mr. Weasley regaled Draco with stories about charmed and jinxed Muggle artifacts.
Finally, when the waitress had told them that they either had to order more food or leave was the subject of the engagement brought up.
"Congragulations on your engagement. I think you two will be very happy together," Mr. Weasley had said, meaning every word.
"Arthur, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley hissed, staring pointedly at him. Mr. Weasley blinked and Molly rolled her eyes. The toast she mouthed, looking irritated.
"Oh, right!" He stood up and tapped his knife against his glass of wine. "Hello? Everybody?" he called, wondering if he should magically amplify his voice.
They looked up at him, and he cleared his throat. Mad-Eye continued talking for a moment longer to Fred and George, not stopping until he had made his point. Then he settled back in his chair and nodded at him as though giving his permission for the toast to proceed. Mr. Weasley pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and cleared his throat again. On the parchment were several bullet points that outlined his speech. The very last one was only one word, microwave.
He caught Draco's eye and smiled. "I met Harry the summer before his second year at Hogwarts the night after Fred, George and Ron flew my Ford Angela to Little Whinging…"
FIN